The new administration is moving at warp speed. Tech moguls skurrey, gathering as baby chicks around a brood hen, to Trump.  The New York Times reports that new leaders are quickly being appointed to the U. S. Prosecutors offices.

The President believes with justification that he has carte blanche to act at will. More than 1,500 January 6th insurrectionists were given clemency. Is this the face of America, the thin patina about refuge, something about ‘give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…’ ripped away? The Disneyfied mask removed? America is essentially a capitalist state, full stop. No apology. America, manifestly willing to die with its toys, Amazon Prime (next day delivery) for those who can afford membership, streaming pay-to-view sporting events in colossal stadiums. The entertainer athletes earn more per minute of game time than many undocumented agricultural workers earn in a year (Tom Brady of the Buccaneers, $55,244). Oh yes, those undocumented, women and children included, are about to be expelled in mass.

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Well, enough! I offer a tune that is close to my heart. The Springsteen tune is a requiem, a funeral dirge, lamenting a way of life which I miss. The adrenaline rush, that tinge of illegal activity, the visceral smell of gasoline and motor oil, a thundering echo of the engine transforming fuel and air into raw horsepower, and the sensual g-force of acceleration, – memories of a time past, of palpable optimism. There was a time when we believed, everything we were told about America must be true… And now? Well, the lyric speaks for itself. This is not, and has never been a Promised Land.

Not even the sea would wash these sins off our hands.

Racin’ in the street

I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396
Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor
She’s waiting tonight down in the parking lot
Outside the Seven-Eleven store
Me and my partner Sonny built her straight out of scratch
And he rides with me from town to town
We only run for the money got no strings attached
We shut ’em up and then we shut ’em down

Tonight, tonight the strip’s just right
I wanna blow ’em off in my first heat
Summer’s here and the time is right
For goin’ racin’ in the street

We take all the action we can meet
And we cover all the northeast state
When the strip shuts down we run ’em in the street
From the fire roads to the interstate
Some guys they just give up living
And start dying little by little, piece by piece
Some guys come home from work and wash up
And go racin’ in the street

Tonight, tonight the strip’s just right
I wanna blow ’em all out of their seats
Calling out around the world, we’re going racin’ in the street

I met her on the strip three years ago
In a Camaro with this dude from L.A.
I blew that Camaro off my back and drove that little girl away
But now there’s wrinkles around my baby’s eyes
And she cries herself to sleep at night
When I come home the house is dark
She sighs “Baby did you make it all right”
She sits on the porch of her daddy’s house
But all her pretty dreams are torn
She stares off alone into the night
With the eyes of one who hates for just being born
For all the shut down strangers and hot rod angels
Rumbling through this promised land
Tonight my baby and me we’re gonna ride to the sea
And wash these sins off our hands

Tonight tonight the highway’s bright
Out of our way mister you best keep
‘Cause summer’s here and the time is right
For goin’ racin’ in the street